


Tough Love

by sleeping_lions



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Enjolras, Grantaire is a smart aleck, M/M, Stupid Boys, enjolras is not amused, pathetic sickly grantaire ensues, spoiler alert they cuddle, they pretend they hate each other but really they are in loooove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeping_lions/pseuds/sleeping_lions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras are roommates, and when Grantaire gets sick, Enjolras is the only one to look after him (even if he does make a big fuss over it). Grantaire milks the situation as much as possible, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Love

"Grantaire, will you get out of the bathroom!" Enjolras bellowed, banging on the door of the boys’ ensuite, "I am going to be late.”

Grantaire was always fucking Enjolras over like this. The latter was starting to wonder whether he did it deliberately, just to get a rise out of him. Grantaire was always parading around with no clothes on, staggering into their room completely pissed at any given moment, doing his best to put Enjolras off whatever it was he was trying to do (usually attempting to sleep). He played ridiculous music at ridiculous times and sung at the top of his lungs while he was trying to work. He liked to ‘borrow’ Enjolras’ things and mess them up, ruining the military-perfect order he had to his belongings.

And Grantaire’s latest thing, spending just those extra few minutes in the shower, ensured that he was perpetually late for his classes. Enjolras had tried to not let it get to him, he refused to lower himself to Grantaire’s level and let him get any sort of reaction out of him, but enough was fucking enough.

With one last quick rap of the knuckles on the wooden door, Enjolras tried the doorknob. He usually didn’t do this, because he wanted to respect the other male’s privacy in the vain hope that Grantaire would return the favour. He never did. Plus, he didn’t want to walk in on Grantaire naked, which he would more than likely do because the boy seemed to have an aversion to clothing.

But if he didn’t put a stop to the drunk’s ludicrous behaviour, he was going to end up slamming a particularly heavy Rise of Fascism in Italy textbook into Grantaire’s skull.

"From now on, you do not spend more than fifteen minutes in the bathroom, are we clear?" Enjolras demanded, coming into the room. He stopped dead suddenly.

Grantaire was sprawled rather pathetically on the floor of the bathroom clad only in his underwear, his head stuck over the toilet bowl. His face was clammy and glistening with sweat, and his dark hair was in a tangle over his forehead.

Suddenly, Grantaire let out a violent retch, and spent a good five minutes solidly throwing up the contents of his stomach. Enjolras was surprised he had that much in his stomach, it was quite alarming.

When he had stopped for a good thirty seconds, the blonde thought it’d probably be best to break the silence.

"Are you okay?" He asked, somewhat hesitantly. He didn’t want to go any further than the doorway, because the putrid stench of sick was already beginning to reach him from the boy on the floor.

"What do you think, Smartarse?” Grantaire rasped, throwing Enjolras a filthy look from over his shoulder.

"Thank god your sudden illness hasn’t dampened your sparkling personality,” Enjolras drawled, folding his arms, “You can’t stay there. It’s disgusting and needs to be cleaned up and I have a class soon.”

"Well, sorry that it’s escaped your notice, but I’m just ever so slightly busy, so fuck off. Go use the communal bathroom down the hall."

"I don’t even want to think about watch I could catch from attempting to shower in there, not to mention I’d probably walk in on two people having shower sex. Again.” Enjolas shuddered at the mental images, “Come on, get up!”

In response, Grantaire did nothing but open his mouth again to be violently sick. Enjolras waited patiently until he was done, before he decided he should probably do something. The cynic couldn’t just stay there festering, no matter how much he might deserve it.

He approached the boy on the floor and put his hand on his back, in between his shoulder blades. He tried not to grimace at the clammy skin, and instead said, “You need to get up and have a shower and brush your teeth, and then I’m putting you to bed so I can have my bathroom back.”

"So good to see you doing this out of the goodness of your own heart," Grantaire said sarcastically, pushing himself to his feet like a shaky foal. He wobbled and nearly smacked his head off the sink, so Enjolras was forced to wrap an arm around his naked waist and support him so he didn’t do himself a serious injury. In response, Grantaire leant against him like dead weight.

"Seeing as you’re going to make me ridiculously late, you could at least be thankful that I’m looking out for you so you don’t spend the entire day sitting in your own filth feeling pathetic."

"If you’re going to be a dick I’d rather do that," Grantaire mumbled.

"Mon dieu, I know it’s hard - but try not to be a complete arse for two minutes of your life. I am trying to help you,” Enjolras grunted as he moved Grantaire towards the shower and sat him down on the side of the tub.

"I’m going to puke on all of the things you love," the cynic whispered, blinking. His eyes were feverish, his face was flushed and there were dark bruises forming under his eyes where the blood vessels had broken because of the repeated retching. Frankly, he looked absolutely pathetic.

"What happened to you?" the blonde murmured, going to brush R’s hair out of his eyes and stopping only at the last possible second. Where had that come from? Enjolras settled for bringing his hand down on Grantaire’s shoulder and giving him a shake. In response, Grantaire groaned.

"I don’t know, I think it’s a stomach bug,” he whined pitifully.

"Or you’re just stupidly hung over, as per usual," Enjolras quipped condescendingly, moving away and looking at him reproachfully, "In which case I have no sympathy for you and you need to shower and brush your teeth because you smell so bad you’re making my eyes water."

"Fuck you, I didn’t have anything to drink last night," Grantaire told him, his feverish eyes suddenly angry. He pushed himself off the tub and stood up to stretch. His skinny frame stretched even tighter over his bones as he reached up towards the ceiling, "You should join me." He said, matter-of-factly.

Enjolras was suddenly very aware of how scantily clad Grantaire was at that moment, and cleared his throat, looking away, “Forgive me for assuming, it’s hardly unlike you to get uproariously drunk, is it?” He reminded him, “And you smell like some sort of disgusting animal. No I will not join you in the shower. You have ten minutes before I come in and drag you out by the hair.” He snapped, quickly retreating from the small room.

"Kinky," Grantaire laughed at his retreating back.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Ta-da," Grantaire said, coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips and his underwear balled up in his hand.

Enjolras was sat at his desk reading a Politics textbook – he had already missed most of his class that morning, and he didn’t want to fall behind - trying not to let the drunkard in front of him distract him. It didn’t work, and Enjolras looked up, is eyes widening as he took in Grantaire’s appearance and the dangerously low towel. If Grantaire noticed, he didn’t comment, and Enjolras quickly covered up his surprise, “I hope you’ve brushed your teeth, and that had better not be my towel,” he deadpanned. Grantaire grunted and threw his dirty underwear at Enjolras’ head. The latter leapt up off his chair with a yell and the offending underwear fell to the floor.

"Have you got any painkillers?" Grantaire asked, rubbing at his eyes like a small child as he sat down on his bed, "My head is killing me."

"I am not giving you anything until you pick up your disgusting underwear from my floor. Living with you is like living with a fucking animal sometimes."

"You pick them up, you’re closer.” Grantaire challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You are vile, Fabien Grantaire," Enjolras muttered, shaking his head. He relented and rifled through the draw in his bedside table, pulling out the Ibuprofen and slapping them into Grantaire’s outstretched hand, "I’m not going anywhere near them, and I expect them gone by the time I get back from classes. Get changed, have a nap, and get a personality transplant while you’re at it."

"Don’t full name me, Aurèlien. God, you’re worse than my mother.” Grantaire groaned at Enjolras’ retreating back as the latter ignored him and left their room.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Your underwear better be off my floor, Grantaire,” Enjolras warned as he came back into their room some time later, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He scanned the room and saw the offending blue boxers still in a heap by his desk chair, and let out a sigh of exasperation. Grantaire on the other hand, seemed perfectly at peace in bed. He was sprawled out on top of his duvet in a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and a black t-shirt with some sort of graphic print on it. His arm was slung over his face and he was making the little snuffly noises he usually did when he slept, like mini-snores that drove Enjolras up the wall when he was trying to work or sleep himself. But it was marginally less painful than when Grantaire got himself so intoxicated that he passed out, because then the noises that erupted from his sinuses didn’t even sound human. It sounded like something from the deepest pits of Tartarus had taken over Grantaire’s body and was trying to shake the earth.

"I know I am perfection personified, my dear – but there really is no need to stand there staring at me, it’s rather off-putting," Grantaire mumbled without looking up, "Come join me." He patted the bed.

"I would rather not, thanks. Some of us have real work to do." Enjolras drawled, setting his bag down on his bed before standing over Grantaire, who was now peering lazily up at him, "You still haven’t moved your fucking underwear."

"Observant, well done. Gold star for you." Grantaire quipped, trying to keep the smirk off his face.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I can’t stand you sometimes?”

"Now now, Sweetheart – we both know that isn’t true," Grantaire flashed him a brilliant grin, "You like me, that’s fine. A lot of people do. It’s a natural reaction. I mean, just look at me."

"I like you about as much as I like pancreatic cancer," Enjolras said, not entirely honestly, "You are completely impossible."

Suddenly, he felt a hand latch around his wrist, and the drunkard was tugging at his arm.

"Come join me," Grantaire whined like a petulant child, "I’m still sick and it’s cold in here and I feel like cuddling and you’re the only one available."

Enjolras snorted, “You really do know how to make a guy feel special.”

By nature, Enjolras really wasn’t the touchy-feely sort. He didn’t do prolonged physical contact, and even when he did – if he wasn’t the one to initiate the contact then touching him was a no-go. He hugged, on rare occasions. If Enjolras greets you with a hug, he must be in an ecstatic mood. He had also never had much time for touching of the more intimate sort, writing it off as frivolous and a waste of his time. It just didn’t interest him, in all honesty. 

"God you look like I’m going to try and corrupt your virtue," Grantaire chuckled, pausing to give a wracking cough that Enjolras immediately chalked up to cigarette abuse, "Hand on my heart, if you take off your clothes and get in here, I promise I won’t try anything.”

Enjolras knew Grantaire’s promises didn’t mean anything. In fact, they meant less than nothing. If Grantaire wanted to do something, he would – no matter how much he might ‘promise’ otherwise.

However, he found himself not putting up as much as a fight as he perhaps should have done when Grantaire tugged violently on his arm so he toppled over and landed gracelessly on the bed next to Grantaire.

“Take your clothes off,” Grantaire breathed lecherously into his ear, sounding like a perverted old man.

“That is beyond creepy,” Enjolras spluttered, and suddenly found himself laughing as he kicked off his shoes and socks and slipped out of his jeans with surprising efficiency considering that he was lying down. When he was left in just his t-shirt and boxer briefs and his laughing was toned down to just a small smile on his lips, Grantaire latched onto his back, wrapping his limbs around Enjolras so there was absolutely no escape.

Enjolras felt like he was in bed with a very warm and very solid baby sloth.

"Knew you liked me really,” Grantaire mumbled, and Enjolras felt the boy’s shoulders shake with silent laugher behind him as he buried his face into Enjolras neck.

"If you tell anyone about this, I swear to God-" the blonde tried to warn, before Grantaire cut him off.

"Yeah yeah, I promise. Now shut up, I’ve got a headache."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: rouge-la-flamme-de-la-colere.


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